


Domestic Boy

by tealeaf523 (ConstantComment)



Series: HP Rarepairs [18]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Coming of Age, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:07:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantComment/pseuds/tealeaf523
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Al doesn’t know what he wants to do. But he still wants to do. Cue an ad posted by none other than Draco Malfoy for a needed housekeeper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domestic Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wooly_bear (on Livejournal)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=wooly_bear+%28on+Livejournal%29).



> **Prompt:** Al is an ordinary wizard in a family of extraordinary people. He is looked upon with amusement and some disdain by everyone because of his love for housekeeping charms and cooking/baking skills. Draco is a lonely businessman in desperate search for a valet because all house-elves have been freed.  
>  **Submitted by:** wooly_bear

**Prologue: The Leaky Cauldron. London, England. July, 2024**

Draco Malfoy hadn’t expected anyone to reply to his listing in the Prophet, and especially in such a short amount of time.

However, to have Potter Junior sitting across from him in the Leaky Cauldron, nervously picking at invisible lint on his trousers as Draco peered over his CV was the most boggling of all.

“Well, you are certainly not what I would have expected, had I expected anyone to apply at all.”

Albus Severus bit his lip, making a deliberate motion to fold his hands together and further avoid fidgeting.

“I waited a month, actually. But only because my dad tried to talk me out of it.”

Draco smirked inwardly, but only glanced at the boy briefly as he talked. He looked like a well-kempt version of his father, but brighter, and unsure. Eager. His hair was shorter than his father’s had ever been at school, but it still held a little bit of rebellion evident in its curving fly-aways. He did not wear glasses. His eyes were a peculiar shade of hazel. Green edged. He looked crisp in periwinkle button-down and dark blue trousers.

Draco felt like he’d been transported to an alternate universe. He could already feel a headache coming on.

“Otherwise, I would have contacted you the moment I saw the ad. It was… madly fortuitous that I’d decided to look in the Prophet on that Sunday.”

Fortuitous? Draco raised his eyebrows at that. Did the boy really have no reservations about working with a Malfoy? He was a Potter, after all.

“I see you graduated from Hufflepuff with 7 passing O.W.L.s… 4 passing N.E.W.T.s,” Draco muttered, perusing the list of interests at the bottom of the thick parchment. Cooking was first. “Charms, Potions, Herbology, and Muggle Studies N.E.W.T.s. What was your best subject?”

Albus Severus pondered this for only a moment. “Charms, definitely. Though I really enjoyed Care of Magical Creatures and History as well, even if I didn’t get O’s.”

Honest. “Why do you like Charms?”

“I… I like how intricate magic can be, even when it’s not meant for aggression. Just casting a breeze in a room is as complex as a Protego in theory.”

Draco hid the twitch of his lips behind his glass of rosé. “You enjoy Charms for the theory?”

Albus blushed a little, smiling. “I suppose it’s more because I have a natural ability with charms. But I like the idea that you don’t have to be throwing Hexes to use difficult magic.”

“People do often underestimate the subject. It never came easily to me, I’ll admit. What doesn’t come easily to you?”

“I can be too pushy when I want to help,” Albus Severus offered, before shrugging. “I don’t know. In terms of housekeeping, I suppose I’m lacking in my cleaning charms. I like to clean without magic. I don’t have the best memory unless I’ve done something over and over – it’s why I like to plan and keep notes.”

It wasn’t exactly what Draco had been asking, but he supposed Albus’ weaknesses in character wouldn’t be terribly important when he was just going to be fixing food, cleaning, planning and generally being domestic.

“Academics aside, what is your best strength?”

“Well, I’m a rather good cook, in my humble opinion. I’ve been making Christmas dinner for my family since I started at Hogwarts.”

Draco nodded, watching the boy’s smile turn bashful. Albus Severus thought his best strength was his ability to cook, and not his fortitude, or his humility. Draco admitted it was fascinating to watch a man of such a young age, with such little bravado and hubris. Scorpius did think rather highly of himself – like son like father - but Draco supposed he only had himself to blame for that, having spoiled the boy all his life. Scorpius thought he was so fantastic that he’d talked himself into a job at the Wizarding World Bank in Washington, DC. He’d be making more money than his father within five years. 

“And what makes you a good fit for this job?”

“…I want to be a good fit,” Albus Severus offered quietly. This question was more difficult, Draco could see. “I’m a hard worker. I love being productive and helping people. And I’m very organized.”

“Well, that’s fortunate. Because I’m the least organized person you’ll ever meet.”  
Albus Severus laughed, the sound startling Draco a little. “I doubt that. You know who I live with.”

Draco cocked his head to the side. The kid had a sense of humour. Easy to get along with. Draco supposed all Hufflepuffs were generally amiable. He took a drink of his wine, gesturing for Albus Severus to drink the Butterbeer Draco had bought him.

“Well, thank you, Mister Potter,” he said after setting his glass down. “Thank you for responding to my ad and for offering your services.”

“Uhm. You’re welcome.” He looked less sure of himself by the moment.

“Do you have any questions for me?”

Albus Severus’ eyes widened. “Oh! Yeah, I do.” He pulled a Muggle notebook out of the messenger bag hanging on his chair. He read off a short list. “Will I… _would I_ be living on your property or coming in during the day?”

“I would set up a room for you, so you could get a grip on how the Manor works for you. You’d be fixing me meals when I’m home. Cleaning what needed to be cleaned. Running the house, which would be easier if you lived there. After the House Elf Equality Act passed by your Aunt, my house-elf quit. My parents bought her, you understand. She didn’t want to work in the Malfoy household any longer, even for pay.”

“So, I’ll be a House Elf?” Albus Severus looked taken aback.

“Are you implying that House Elves are inferior to Wizardkind?” Draco watched Albus Severus blush over the lip of his wine glass.

“No, no. That’s not what I mean.”

“I don’t intend to treat you like my parents treated our House Elves, Mister Potter. You’ll be a valet, so to speak. Or a housekeeper, if you like that term better.”

Albus Severus nodded.

“Any other questions?”

“What would my salary be?”

“Free room and board, plus… let’s say fifteen Galleons a day?”

“Make it sixteen so I can easily convert to pounds sterling?”

Draco chuckled. “Why not?”

“What will you be doing, Mister Malfoy?”

“Pardon?”

“During the day—what prevents you from keeping your own house?”

“I run a business, Mister Potter. You could even call it an industry. Have you ever heard of Prince Potionmakers?”

Albus nodded eagerly. “I always liked them over Angus Apothecaries and Concoctions, Limited because of my namesake. You know, Severus Snape’s mum was a Prince.”

Draco was impressed. “Did your father tell you that?”

“Yeah.”

“I did name the business after Severus.”

Albus Severus’ eyes widened. “Wow, really?”

“He was a role model. Very important to me; very important to your father’s success actually.”

“Yeah.”

“Plus, once you see the Manor you’ll understand why a man like me, lacking in the gifts of charms and household spellcasting, cannot take care of such an estate.”

“So I have the job?”

Draco startled. He supposed he’d gotten ahead of himself. Recovering, he grumbled, “Sure of yourself, aren’t you, Mister Potter?”

“Sorry. It just sounded like no one else had answered your offer.”

Draco remained silent, but his foot began to wiggle. Albus Severus was quicker than he’d expected. Draco watched the boy look at him with earnestness. His eyes really were a fascinating colour. 

“When will I hear from you?” 

“Sorry?”

“When will I hear whether you’re hiring me?”

“Ah. Give me twenty-four hours, Mister Potter.”

“Okay,” Albus Severus said quietly, picking up his pint of Butterbeer and draining it. “Thanks for meeting with me, Mister Malfoy. It was nice meeting you.” He stood, brushed a hand through his hair, and held the other out for Draco to shake.

“Of course, Mister Potter.” Draco stood, and took his hand. It was smooth and warm, not damp like he’d expected.

Draco watched the Potter boy walk swiftly from the pub, but not before he turned back and smiled at Draco on his way out the door. 

Draco drained his glass.

There was something about that kid.

 

**A month earlier: Shell Estate. Tinworth, Cornwall. June, 2024:**

The water rose and fell in hushed waves and the sun peaked out from behind clouds in the bright morning as Albus Severus Potter worried at his lip and thumbed through the Sunday Prophet, curled in one of the kitchen chairs of his family’s summer home. He was absently rubbing at Clement’s furred back with a socked foot as the terrier stretched out on the floor. All he could hear in the house was the lazy drip of the faucet a few feet away, the smell of sausage grease and savoury baking filling his nose. 

Peace.

That is, until he heard the muffled slam of a door and the consequent rumble of his little sister’s footsteps. 

Time to boil the water. 

Clement whined once, nose pointed in the direction of the stairs, until Albus shushed him with a pat to his rump and flicked his wand at the sink. What followed was a series of whimsical little dances of various kitchen appliances, the faucet filling up the kettle as the tea set floated merrily from the china cabinet to rest neatly on the tray he’d set out a few minutes prior.

There was a report on three linked robberies in Edinburgh, which Albus skimmed through only after taking the sausages off of the stovetop.

“Dad leave yet?” 

Albus looked up at Lily, who was still wearing her glasses and bunny slippers. She was dressed to impress, otherwise. Her robes were new; new robes for a new internship at Gringotts. She’d be starting work with Uncle Bill in the Curse-Breaking department in July, but had set up a meeting this morning to go over scheduling and brush up on protocol. Lily carried her purple boots by the heels as she sauntered to the table. She hadn’t bothered to ask why Albus was up so early. After eighteen years of early rising, it had become a boring topic in the Potter household.

“I managed to get Dad to take one of the muffins I made yesterday, but he was in a hurry. There were robberies in Edinburgh.”

Lily hummed and dropped her shoes on the table before sitting down, ignoring the twitch of Albus’ fingers toward his wand. He’d cleaned the table last night. “What’s for breakfast, then?” she asked, very clearly diverting his attention. She was a Gryffindor, after all. Why be subtle when directness worked just fine? Albus preferred when people were considerate.

“Just something simple. Grecian Frittatas.”

“Al, frying up eggs is simple.” Lily raised her eyebrows. “What’s in these frittatas, then?”

“Artichoke hearts, kalamata olives, red onion, spinach, and feta cheese. I made them in a muffin pan,” he added excitedly. 

“Olives, Al?” Lily asked, face twisting into a grimace.

Albus floundered for something to say. Persuading his stubborn sister to do things she didn’t like was always an exercise in applying equal if not greater pressure. Albus didn’t like fighting. Or making anyone unhappy. “You’ll like it! You said you haven’t had artichokes since I made that mayonnaise sauce last Easter, so I thought I’d—”

The timer dinged, and Albus looked worriedly at the oven before glancing back at his sister, who was braiding her black hair into a fishtail. Her hazel eyes watched the wind stir the seashell mobile hanging in the wide window that overlooked the beach and the bay beyond. Lily’s godmother had mentioned once that that mobile had been around since before the Second Voldemort War, when Shell Estate was just a cottage and a safe house for the Order of the Phoenix.

Lily waved him off when she noticed the tell-tale pout of his lip. “It’s fine, it’s fine,” she said, and then, “I’ll just feed the olives to Clement. Clement loves olives. Isn’t that right, doggy?” She ducked under the table and ruffled Clement’s ears when he scrambled over to her.

Albus opened the oven door and intoned, “Wingardium Leviosa,” at the muffin pan with a steady hand on his wand. His mouth watered at the delicious smell. 

As soon as he arranged the frittatas into a neat display on one of Grandmum’s plates, James Apparated into the kitchen. 

“Do I smell breakfast?” he asked eagerly, shoving his sister’s shoulder when she rolled her eyes at him. He sat down and grabbed the utensils at his place at the table, and began stuffing his face with sausage.

Albus placed a frittata on each plate before asking, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

James looked up, fork hanging from his mouth. “Shibt!” he exclaimed around the mouthful.

Albus mopped up James’ mess as he disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived. A muffled shout came from upstairs.

“Idiot,” Lily muttered, before trying to grab the paper from Albus’ seat.

“Hey!” Albus cried. “I was gonna look through the job listings!”

“Kettle’s boiling,” Lily mentioned without looking up, scritching under Clement’s snout as she flipped to the Arts section. “It’s only been a week since you graduated, Al. D’you think you could sit still for just a moment?”

Albus covered the frittatas and put them in the icebox before slipping the muffin pan into the soapy water he’d prepared beforehand. He looked over his shoulder to respond and saw his mother, who’d clearly just woken up due to the high-pitched shouting of James’ girlfriend, Estelle. Mum had been rising early only because they were in town and always made a ruckus when they left for their morning jog. James was visiting because of Albus’ graduation, but would be returning to Luxembourg for training with the Bigonville Bombers on Wednesday. This year James had his sights on Chasing for the Luxembourg National Quidditch team. The problem was that Estelle had similar designs. It had created a rift, one that the family didn’t enjoy the results of, and one that neither James nor Estelle would talk about.

“I’ll give them another week. Estelle’s only been nice because Mum’s terrifying,” Lily said to the ceiling.

Mum crept up behind Lily and growled, “I am not terrifying!” Lily’s reaction was counter-argument enough. She laughed and pressed a kiss to Lily’s cheek before sitting in her seat at the end of the table.

She paused to point with a proud expression at her breakfast plate, picking up her glass of orange juice before asking, “What were my darling progeny talking about before the lovebirds started up?” 

“We were just discussing the fact that Albus can’t—”

“I was going to look through the job listings,” Albus interrupted, throwing the dishtowel at his sister. “And see what I might be able to do with my life.” 

Mum cocked her head to the side, noting the absence of confidence in Albus’ voice as Lily sighed exasperatedly.

“I don’t have the amount of N.E.W.T.s you do, Lily, and certainly not enough to work for the Ministry, and I don’t have Quidditch to fall back on—”

“I resemble that remark,” Mum muttered into her glass.

“Mum, you finished with eight N.E.W.T.s!” Albus exclaimed, and grabbed the paper back from Lily’s hands. The job listings were in the back, and Albus buried his nose in them to avoid any more conversation.

Albus was saved from any protest from either Lily or his mother when Estelle stormed down the stairs, swearing under her breath in French.

He didn’t have a moment’s peace until clean-up, when Lily had Apparated away for her meeting with Uncle Bill, and the ‘lovebirds’ had gone on their run, angry and arguing from the moment they’d entered the kitchen.

“Do you want to try and find work right away?” Mum asked.

Albus didn’t mention how much he appreciated the lack of judgment in her tone. She knew he wanted to feel useful, and how he didn’t like being the one without a plan in a family of very talented, very driven people. Albus was driven. He just didn’t know where he was driving. 

“No one expects you to know what you want to do with your life, Al,” she added, when all Albus did was retrieve the dishtowel from where Lily had folded it over Dad’s chair. 

“Well, that’s fantastic, because I don’t know what to do.”

Mum smiled sympathetically. “You don’t have to know what you want to do, sweetheart.”

“But I want to know! I want to do!”

In response, Mum ruffled his hair and helped him dry the dishes, but just minutes later Albus was alone. 

The Sunday Prophet’s Classifieds stared innocently up at him as he leaned nervously against the counter, a damp dishtowel hanging from his fingers.

 

**Now: Malfoy Manor. Wiltshire, England. July, 2024**

Albus Severus set his bags down in the foyer, gobsmacked by the opulence of Malfoy Manor. The walls in the vast front hall were painted a lovely cream, and the ceiling was vaulted. There were flower-laden vases in every corner, and a grand chandelier twinkled expensively above his head. The only darker objects in the room stood out starkly against the wall opposite the front doors. These objects were two portraits, which hung above another set of doors between the two curved staircases. 

Albus remembered he’d seen the first portrait in history books: the infamous Lucius Malfoy stood over his wife Narcissa, who sat in a luxurious armchair. Between them stood a very young Draco Malfoy, his hair slicked back and his cheeks plump with baby fat. He looked entirely too smug. All were dressed in the deep green of Malfoy House.

The other portrait was similar, but the three figures stood against a purple background, and none were dressed alike. Draco Malfoy was grown in this one, standing next to his late wife, Astoria, who wore a lovely blue that matched her eyes. Scorpius stood between them, the only one wearing green. At first the figures looked as solemn as their counterparts in the older portrait, but there was a sparkle to Astoria’s eye when she looked down at her son, and there was a quirk to Malfoy’s lips when he noticed Albus’ lingering gaze. Scorpius, fair-haired like his father, but with the jewel-like eyes of the Greengrass line, held a baby crup in his arms, thumbing at the pup’s soft ears. Looking back to the other portrait, Albus noticed a tiny white snake peek out from little Draco’s sleeve. The newer portrait had to have been ten years old at least, as Scorpius looked as he had when they were firsties, and Astoria had died not long after, but Malfoy looked like he had the other day in the Leaky.

A noise startled Albus from his observations, and he looked back to see his dad, who’d dropped Albus’ school trunk on the marble floor. Dad was staring around the hall with a look of awe on his face.

“I thought you said you’d been here before,” said Albus.

A polished voice responded, “There have been some renovations since the war.”

Albus snapped his attention to the door on the far left, a door that led to what looked like a sitting room. Draco Malfoy leaned in the doorway, holding a manila folder in his long fingers. He dressed nothing like Dad, who even in his Auror’s robes—which he’d insisted on wearing today—looked unkempt. Draco Malfoy on the other hand looked as smart as he had in the pub, although he fit into his surroundings much more here. He wore tailored grey robes, complete with dark blue button-down and black trousers. Albus couldn’t remember anyone paying that much attention to their looks—at least in his family. James had always made fun of him for dressing so nicely, when he had no one to impress. It never really got through to him that Albus liked to dress nicely for himself, not for anyone else. And anyway, Lily was never teased when she wanted to wear or buy nice things, even though Mum was much more likely to wear Dad’s jeans than the latest fashions.

“A bit,” said Dad, bringing Albus back to the present.

Albus cleared his throat before saying, “Morning, Mister Malfoy.” He gave an awkward wave, and regretted it immediately.

Draco strode out to shake Albus’ hand, followed by a stilted exchange with Albus’  
dad.

“Welcome to your new home, Mister Potter,” Malfoy said around a bright smile.

“Albus, please,” said Albus, just as his dad muttered, “I thought you said it was a trial run.”

Albus watched Dad cautiously as the man scratched at the back of his grey head and looked generally uncomfortable.

The smile slipped from Malfoy’s face. He folded his arms, and Albus resisted the impulse to make the movement easier by taking the folder from him.

“If he’s as good as I think he’ll be,” Malfoy said finally, “he can stay as long as he likes.”

Albus felt his face heating, so he occupied himself by hefting his school trunk into his arms.

“Where to, then?” Albus asked, following when Malfoy waved him over to the left staircase.

“You’ll be boarding in the East Wing, so I hope you’re an early riser.”

“Why?” Dad asked a bit dimly.

“The sun rises in the east, Dad,” Albus mentioned quietly, watching Malfoy shake his head incredulously.

“I did know that. I knew that!” he grumbled, and continued to mutter to himself as they ascended the stairs and lugged Albus’ things down the corridor.  
“This wing is empty save for you. The family used to host guests here. The master bedroom is in the West Wing, same with Scorpius’ room. Although, he isn’t living here at the moment.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, where is he?”

“He landed an internship with the Wizarding World Bank. He’s in Washington, D.C. right now looking for a flat.”

Albus felt a little jealousy spring in his heart, but tamped it down when he saw the smile in Malfoy’s eyes.

“You must be proud of him.”

“Where’s the room?” Dad asked impatiently.

Malfoy rolled his eyes and pointed all the way down the long hall. “The corner chamber,” he said.

The corner chamber was less a chamber and more a vast room. There was a king-sized bed as the focal point, flanked by two antique end tables. The room was bright if a bit musty with disuse. Albus noticed happily that windows lined two of the walls, one facing East as Malfoy had mentioned and the other facing an expanse of French gardens. If Albus was correct, the Malfoys were indeed French, if they hadn’t adopted the name some time in the past.

“This is fantastic,” Albus exclaimed, coming back to himself.

“I tried cleaning a little, but I’m afraid I’m not up to snuff on household charms.”

Albus shrugged, smiling. “That’s why you’ve got me.”

“Jesus,” a voice said, and Albus was reminded that his Dad was still in the room. Albus glared at him.

“I’ve a Floo call,” Malfoy mentioned, looking between Albus and his dad. “Find me in my study when you’ve said your goodbyes. Third door on the left under the west staircase.”

“Thank you, Mister Malfoy.”

“No, thank you!” he replied, and Albus could swear the man winked before flitting out the door.

Albus Levitated his trunk next to the large wardrobe in the corner before turning to his dad.

“You could be at least a little supportive, you know,” he spat.

“What? No, Al!”

Albus threw the rest of his bags on the bed, gritting his teeth before casting a Freshening Charm on the sheets. He waved his wand about the room, incanting Neatening Charms and Folding Charms and Opening and Closing Charms, and even casting a De-wrinkling Charm on Dad’s robes before he spoke again.

“I find something that I do _well_ ,” he punctuated his sentence with a Breeze Charm. “Something that will make me _money_.” He whipped his wand through the air, which resulted in his trunk snapping violently open. “Something that makes me _happy_ , and you scoff at me.”

“Albus.” There was a hand on his wand arm. “No, I’m… I’m _so_ proud of you.”

Albus looked at his father. He was contrite, Albus could tell.

“You have my temper,” Dad murmured after a moment, before shaking himself and continuing. “I just worry about you. Malfoy and I… we weren’t exactly _chums_.”

“I know what happened,” Albus said, feeling a twinge of embarrassment as he watched his father bounce awkwardly on the balls of his feet. “He changed his allegiance. He was pardoned at his trial because of you!”

“That’s not… exactly how it happened,” said Dad, before sighing and taking off his glasses to clean them on his sleeve. Albus couldn’t help himself. He flicked his wand and the glasses were suddenly, sparklingly clean, fitting themselves on Dad’s face.

“Al,” Dad reprimanded, chuckling.

“I am unapologetic.”

“I am _proud_ of you. You have this talent that certainly none in our family possesses.”

Albus found himself pulled into a hug.

“I can’t help but be suspicious, Al,” Dad said into his hair.

Albus smirked, patting his dad’s back. “It _is_ what you do for a living. It’s why your hair’s so grey!”

“Albus Severus!”

Albus snickered until Dad squeezed the breath out of him with the strength of his embrace.

“Be safe,” Dad said after letting him go. “Work hard.”

“I will, Dad,” Albus murmured.

On his way out, Dad asked, “Dinner, soon?”

“I’ll owl you when I figure out my days off. We can celebrate your birthday, then.”

With a grin, his dad called out, “I love you, Albus.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Come on, you twat!” Dad’s laugh filled the room.

“Love you too, Dad.”

 

**Two weeks later: August, 2024**

Albus was in the manor’s cellar, taking an account of the vintages with a Quick Quotes Quill – the one James had given him for his seventeenth – picking up dusty bottles and wandering through the maze of units filled with wine and spirits of varying qualities. Most were phenomenally expensive, but there was a shelf dedicated to cooking wines, for which Albus was grateful. There were even some oak barrels, some with plaques that read, ‘Questo prodotto è realizzato in legno di rovere di Slavonia’ or ‘Chêne véritable de la région Adygey.’

It was a bit mystifying. Albus had only ever had Elfmade wine, and his parents didn’t drink much at all (they often mentioned having too much fun in their twenties, but Albus wondered if it was an excuse not to mention they’d been afraid to start drinking because of what happened in their teens). The wine here wasn’t Elfmade, though, Albus could tell. It looked to be the Muggle kind. He wanted to ask Draco when the Malfoys had started that tradition.

He wanted to ask Draco many things.

The day he’d moved in, Albus had been eager to get started. He’d saved the rest of the cleaning of his own room for later and put his things away before setting out for the first floor of the West Wing.

_Malfoy was in his study, if one could call it that. Albus couldn’t imagine getting any studying done, since every surface was covered with books and folders and files and glass vials._

_“_ Merlin’s pants! _”_

_Malfoy looked up, tilting the bifocals down his nose and spotting Albus’ horrified expression._

_“Some language, Mister Potter,” Malfoy said wryly._

_“Sorry, Mister Malfoy,” Albus exclaimed. “It’s just…” He shuddered._

_“It’s a sty, I know. You can see why I need someone to keep house. I can barely keep my thoughts straight these days.”_

_“Has it been this way since your house-elf left?”_

_“Unfortunately, yes. Although Rome wasn’t built in a day. By which I mean, I don’t accumulate crap that quickly.”_

_Albus opened his planner and began a list, starting with Malfoy’s study._

_“I have a couple questions, Mister Malfoy.”_

_“How about you call me Draco and I’ll call you Albus, and we can be efficient in communicating by not wasting our breath.”_

_Albus paused, and watched Malfoy—_ Draco _—slide his glasses back up his narrow nose._

_“Right, Mister—uh—Draco.”_

_“Good enough for now.” The man liked to smirk quite a bit._

_“Do you want the East Wing to be ready for guests?”_

_Draco shrugged, shuffling papers around before appearing to give up, as there wasn’t much place to put it._

_Albus bit his lip._

_“On second thought, those rooms could use some tidying up.”_

_Albus looked up to see Draco watching him curiously._

_“Astoria didn’t have them all renovated when she moved in. Yours might actually be the only one that she bothered with as it’s the largest.”_

_“So, redecorating if necessary, but mostly just keeping them clean. How about yours and Scorpius’ rooms? Would you like me to clean them regularly?”_

_Draco nodded with an appreciative smile. “That would be fantastic. Although…”_

_Albus waited, catching the downward twitch of Draco’s lips before he was looking at an impassively polite expression._

_“You might want to tidy Scorpius’ room up and then cover the furniture. Whatever it is one does to keep the dust out.”_

_Albus scribbled away in his planner, but couldn’t keep from glancing back at Draco, who was frowning down at the papers._

_“And how about today?”_

_“Hm?”_

_“When do you take tea? How do you take your tea? When would you like dinner?”_

_“Tea at four, if you would, and I take my tea with two sugars. A splash of milk if necessary.”_

_“Do you like to change it up, then, Draco?”_

_Draco gave him a look he couldn’t quite interpret, but answered anyway. “You’ll find quite a stash in the cupboard in the kitchens, if I haven’t scavenged all of it away by now.”_

_Albus made a note to check the inventory._

_“And dinner?”_

_“Not tonight. I have a business event that I must attend. I’m going to a conference in Brussels this week and I’m quite booked for the rest of the next. But, I eagerly await your culinary expertise when I have a free night,” he said with a chuckle. “Heading a corporation is quite a handful, let me tell you.”_

_Albus tried to hide his disappointment. Mum always said he was as obvious as his dad._

_“Do I have permission to buy groceries for whatever I might need?”_

_“Yes! Remind me to give you access to the spending account for the Manor in the morning before I leave – and_ that _reminds me! I get up at seven every morning and leave promptly at nine, omitting the weekend. I’ve been getting a bite and a coffee at headquarters since the house-elf left, but I suppose you could make me a bite and a coffee instead.”_

_Albus nodded with a smile. “Preferences for your breakfast?”_

_“Take-away,” Draco replied promptly._

_“No other requests?”_

_Draco’s lips were smiling around white teeth as he leaned back in his chair and offered, “Surprise me.”_

Albus found himself holding a bottle of moscato d’Asti, staring absently into the middle distance as the memory dissipated quickly. The funny little feeling in his stomach was slower to fade, but he was rescued from contemplating it when his hand started vibrating.

The feeling startled him. After all, Albus wasn’t used to wearing jewellery. He’d only been wearing the bracelet since Draco had traded it for a cup of Ceylon when he’d arrived from Brussels last week.

With a sigh and the resolve to come back later and finish what he’d started, Albus pushed back his sleeve and read the etching on the silver band around his wrist:

_POTIONS ROOM._

Draco had been as elusive as he’d promised this week, but whenever he’d seen Albus he’d seemed to brighten. He always had something nice to say about Albus’ work, and would ask about his day as if Albus wasn’t waiting for him to be around half the time, and the other half wandering the estate for something to fix up. Albus had even made tentative friends with some of the less horrible portraits in the manor. The girl in the portrait in Albus’ favourite room always brightened like Draco when he decided to take a break and read in the sunroom that faced the gardens in the East Wing. Albus supposed it was nice to see someone else when one spent so much time alone. Albus didn’t know the feeling of being alone very well, but being lonely? One could say he was acquainted with it.

He wondered if Draco got lonely.

The potions room was in the West Wing on the second floor only a couple rooms away from Draco’s. Albus had only been in the West Wing when Draco had been absent, and admittedly felt awkward crossing into the territory. He’d never set foot in the potions room.

However, he did as he was bid, and was surprised when he opened the door to see Draco hunched over a small cauldron, funny sparks emitting from the turquoise surface of the smoking liquid. Behind him, shelves climbed the walls to the ceiling, with books and vials and ingredients and cauldrons.

Albus would’ve compared it to Draco’s study, had it not been pristine.

Draco, however, was not so pristine. He had a tee shirt on, one that looked well loved and sported the Weird Sisters’ final album title. He had a streak of pink dust over his nose and his hair was distinctly tousled. 

“Am I that fascinating?” asked Draco.

Albus rubbed the back of his neck as he entered the room, feeling the heat in his cheeks.

“I need your help with something, if you wouldn’t mind,” Draco continued as if he’d said nothing embarrassing.

“What can I do for you?” Albus asked. He shuffled over to the counter when beckoned.

“Would you consent to testing this potion? If I get this done sooner, I’ll be available for dinner.”

Albus peered excitedly into the potion, which was becoming less opaque by the second.

“Is it a variant of Pepper Up?”

“We’re trying out our own version. Without the steam. I’ve made some changes to the Prince potioneers’ idea. I wanted to see if the effects were the same.”

Albus cocked his head to the side. “Do you test all of the potions that your company makes?”

Draco nodded, stirring the potion four times before taking the glass rod out and laying it on a cloth away from the flames under the cauldron. “I’ve invented a couple of them, even.”

“That’s really cool.”

Draco smiled. “Do they still say that?” 

“I don’t know if it will ever go out of style,” Albus replied, watching as Draco ladled a small amount of potion into a beaker and passed it over.

The effect of the potion was immediate. Albus began to feel giddy as soon as the liquid hit his lips, so giddy that he barely noticed Draco picking up a clipboard and a ballpoint pen.

“How do you feel?”

Albus slid his hands up to his elbows, almost hugging himself, as a grin spread across his face. “I dunno. I’m… happy, maybe?”

Draco nodded, pen scratching.

“I feel like… like singing,” Albus added.

Draco smirked, but didn’t look up. “Go ahead.”

Albus’ blush had to be down to his toes.

“As I expected,” muttered Draco. “Anything else, Albus?”

“My mouth tastes like mint. But that’s all.”

“Thank you. The effects should wear off in a couple minutes.”

“Oh.” Albus couldn’t decide whether he wanted that or not. He decided on not, if he was still feeling like breaking out into song.

“The result was what I expected. Before the changes, there was no inhibition at all. No embarrassment. When I tried it – the day before your arrival – it was like drinking a poorly brewed Elixir to Induce Euphoria. I had my own little dance party for about two minutes before I’d realized how ridiculous I was being.”

The giggle erupted from Albus quite unexpectedly, and he was laughing, even as Draco cast a Stasis Charm and then guided him into the hall.

Albus was still giggling, covering his mouth and watching Draco smile as they walked down two floors to the kitchens.

When it wore off, Draco saved him from his own embarrassment and asked if he could watch Albus cook dinner.

“I know exactly what to make,” Albus said finally, pressing fingers to his sore cheeks.

Draco Conjured a barstool and sat at the island counter in the middle of the vast room. Albus watched him over his shoulder as he went to the icebox to get the chicken. “I look forward to it,” Draco murmured.

 

 **Two Months Later:** October, 2024

It was raining when Albus woke up, surrounded by pillows and the smell of lavender oil. It was a fragrance Draco had picked out for his own chambers, said it was calming and fresh, and Albus couldn’t help but agree. Taking a big breath, he stretched out, joints popping and sheets falling to his hips.

He could see the Quidditch shed from the window, although one could hardly call it that.

_“Merlin,” groaned Draco as he licked his lips and stared a little dazedly at the food in front of him. “If you cook like this all the time I’ll have to take up flying again. Otherwise I’ll fatten up!”_

_Albus blushed, spooning a little more of the soufflé onto Draco’s plate and getting him a glass of water. It was nearly the tenth time he’d cooked for Draco, but only the second that Draco’d watched him prepare the food, and had eaten down in the kitchen._

_“I can’t imagine you fat,” he muttered after a time, most of which he’d spent watching Draco’s eyelids flutter and his brow furrow as he enjoyed his meal._

_“Well, Al, I couldn’t imagine eating so richly on a day-to-day basis. Our house elf was one of the best cooks, but my parents preferred bland food and wine more expensive than it was good.”_

_“When was the last time you played Quidditch?”_

_Draco sighed and put down his fork, slumping a little in his chair. Albus had a fleeting thought that he looked rather handsome, even if he was Dad’s age. He was broad shouldered but slim, his hands strong but polite around the stem of his wineglass. He wore casual robes that formed to his torso and revealed his flat stomach. He was looking better than he had when Albus had met him in early July, like he was being taken care of._

_Albus fought another blush again. The thought that Albus was the one taking care of this man, keeping him happy and being useful, made his stomach tighten up._

_“It’s been quite some time. You?”_

_“Oh, no, I’m a terrible flyer,” Albus said quickly._

_Draco leaned over the counter, eyes flicking to Albus’ wringing hands. “Afraid of heights?”_

_Albus laughed quietly. “You guessed it.”_

_Draco was quiet for a while as he nursed his wine, food forgotten this once. “Ever had someone take you up who knows?”_

_Albus swallowed. He remembered the first, and second, and sixth, and umpteenth time that his dad had tried to teach him, to show him how easy it could be. It was just another thing he didn’t have in common with his dad, which had been a sore spot—was still a sore spot, if he was honest._

_“My dad never could get me on a broom, but then again, my brother had inherited the talent and never let me forget it. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, so I never let it happen.”_

_Draco frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps in different circumstances you would try it again?”_

_“You’d have to give me a big bonus,” Albus replied, and the bark of a laugh he got in return made his stomach feel even stranger than it had a moment before._

_“I’ll think of something,” said Draco, and then, just as he’d picked up his fork to take another bite he exclaimed, “Why don’t you have meals with me? This is a bit strange sitting in the kitchen and having you just watch me eat!”_

_“I couldn’t possibly—”_

_“Albus, don’t be ridiculous.”_

_Albus smiled. “I’m always ridiculous.”_

_“Who told you that?”_

_Draco looked very serious in that moment._

_“It’s pretty commonly bandied about when people talk about me,” Albus said, shrugging and wiping the counter down before flicking his wand at the oven since it had cooled down enough._

_Draco ignored the snick of the oven door. “Albus, I would appreciate it if you’d sit with me at dinners. At least every now and then. Merlin knows you don’t get to see many people while you’re working here, and I’m very nearly a recluse.”_

_Albus picked at a pill on his pullover._

_“I think we’d do one another good.”_

Albus shifted, remembering the look on Draco’s face as he’d said that. He’d looked desperate. Even if Albus hadn’t been thinking of agreeing to take meals with Draco, he’d have agreed because of that heart-breaking look.

The rain picked up, thrumming mutedly against the window, and Albus couldn’t help but wonder what Draco thought about in his waking moments.

Did he wonder what Albus would make for him that day? Did he concoct potion improvements in his head as he pulled the sheets away and sat up? Or did he linger under the warm covers for a while? Did he miss sleeping beside someone?

The question made Albus shiver. Albus felt like he missed sleeping beside someone, and he’d never even done it. When he thought about Draco, though, he missed it more.

“Merlin’s pants,” he muttered sadly, feeling his stomach tighten the more he thought about his boss.

He’d never wanted to be with someone so badly before. He’d never felt useful and helpful and comfortable with someone like this before. He’d never felt so hopeless before.

It had surprised him, had crept up on him quickly, this feeling—these feelings—for Draco. If he could pinpoint the moment he’d figured it out, it had to have been a Sunday almost as dreary as this, when he’d happened upon Draco in the sunroom where Albus liked to hide when he needed to relax. Draco had been looking out at the gardens, a smile on his face like he was trying to hold onto a memory, socked feet propped on a chair and sleeves rolled up to reveal his Dark Mark, and the silver bracelet on his right wrist. There had been a family album on the coffee table next to him, but he was rubbing his thumb over the bracelet like he wanted to call Albus to him. When Albus had knocked on the door, Draco’s face had lit up, his lips curling.

Albus took a shuddering breath, fingers toying with the edge of the waistband on his shorts, working himself up to just take care of the want coiling in his stomach before it got worse and he lost the motivation to leave his bed.

He’d slipped a finger under the elastic when his bracelet buzzed.

_FOYER._

He pressed the heel of his palm across the front of his shorts with a sad whimper before taking a couple breaths, even as his heart sped. Draco was supposed to have left before breakfast time, but he was still in the manor, only moments away.

Albus rolled out of bed, casting a Chilling Charm on himself and donning a robe, feeling a little resentful. The one time he allowed himself to sleep in and lounge about—allowed himself to indulge—Draco had to _need_ something.

Who was he kidding? Despite the ache in his belly from the untapped want, Albus eagerly descended the stairs to find Draco Levitating his overcoat to the hidden closet in the entryway, hair slightly mussed from the rain.

“Board meeting was cancelled,” said Draco without preamble. Then he looked up.

Albus was treated to a laugh, which rendered the Chilling Charm ineffective as he was blushing down to his toes. He realized that Draco had never seen him in pyjamas.

“Having a lay-in, Al?” Draco asked. When Albus did nothing but open his mouth like a fish, Draco added, “Could you do a Drying Charm—or something—to get the water out of my hair?”

Albus nodded, patting down his hair as he approached Draco, and did a series of movements with his wand that removed the excess water from his hair and from the coat that was now hovering by the hidden door in the wall.

“What would I do without you?” Draco said fondly, and Albus chose to watch the coat disappear into the closet instead of Draco’s smiling face.

“I dread to think,” Albus finally said, smirking when Draco laughed harder.

“I need to be in the laboratory for the morning, Albus, but I’d love to have lunch with you after,” he said eagerly. “I might even go flying later if the weather permits.”

Albus sighed. “I’m taking lunch with my dad in London today.”

“Oh,” huffed Draco, nodding slowly and looking away. “Right.”

“I’ll be back around two, though.”

Draco seemed to relax a little, smiling self-deprecatingly, which Albus was sure he wasn’t supposed to have noticed.

“There are sandwiches in the icebox in the kitchen,” Albus added.

“Thanks, Al. That sounds excellent.”

They stood two feet away from one another, a distance that felt more and more awkward as the silence stretched.

“Draco, could I come watch you fly when I get back?”

Draco startled. “Of course, of course,” he muttered. “Perhaps I can persuade you to get on a broom?”

Albus snickered. “Perhaps,” he said.

“Have a good time with your father, Al.”

Albus felt that same awkward feeling, like things were being left unsaid and laughter was strained and touches were tentative, all through lunch. Even Dad commented on his absentmindedness, brow furrowing as Albus brushed away the concern. Dad had asked whether Draco was treating him with respect, whether Albus thought he was being taken advantage of, to which Albus reacted rather unexpectedly. Dad had shut up after Albus told him how well Draco treated him. There was still a frown between Dad’s eyes when they’d said goodbye, though, and Albus allowed himself to ponder whether it was the edge to his voice when he’d told his father that Draco was a good man, or because he’d outright said that Draco had been nothing but “lovely.”

It was even more jarring when Albus arrived at the gates of Malfoy Manor, only to see that it was indeed sunny out, and that sun was beating down on Draco Malfoy’s white-blond hair as he strode toward the Quidditch ‘shed’ in his leather gear, shining black boots and fingerless gloves. He wore a Slytherin green, rather tight long-sleeved jersey not unlike one from those Muggle soccer leagues, and white trousers.

“You coming, Al?” was all that Draco had said, which was why Albus found himself staring at a Cumulo-Nimbus, 9th Edition broom in his hands as Draco chose another for himself from the selection of collector’s edition and professional-grade brooms along the vast wall in the Quidditch ‘shed.’

“I cannot believe that you call this a shed,” Albus said finally, fingers gripping the shining ash wood of the broom.

Draco chuckled. “I used to honestly believe this was a shed. I like to think I’ve gained a bit of perspective in all my long years.”

They ducked out into the sun again, and as soon as Albus had thrown a leg over the broom, he exclaimed, “This is not going to happen.”

Draco rested a hand on his elbow. “You’ll be fine.”

“No, nope. I won’t.” Albus stared with wide eyes down at his white knuckles.

There was a huff of laughter, and then another hand rested over his collar, dry fingers touching his warm neck. Albus suppressed a shiver.

“Would you be alright if I took you up? I’ve been flying since I was seven. I was even scouted by the French National Team after I finished Hogwarts.”

“Braggart,” said Albus.

Another laugh, this time breezing across his ear, made him look up into Draco eyes, which were grey and much too close.

“I said I had gained perspective, not humbleness. Now, I’m going to hop on and we’re going flying.”

All Albus could do was nod as an arm wrapped around his waist and pulled him into the cradle of two strong thighs. Draco’s other hand clasped the broom very near to the seam of Albus’ trousers.

He was so focused on Draco’s fingers—so close to him and holding him tight to Draco’s front—that he didn’t realize they’d been ascending into mid-air all the while.

He let out a strangled noise when he saw the ground twenty feet below, one hand moving to grip the arm around his waist and the other rather inappropriately grabbing Draco’s left thigh.

“Breathe,” murmured Draco, and Albus did try very hard to relax against him, even as he shook. “I’ve got you.”

Albus closed his eyes and listened to Draco’s voice, felt his strong arm squeeze him, press him closer, and realized how safe he was.

“That’s it,” Draco coaxed, and Albus opened his eyes, feeling a bit like he was being cajoled to do something else.

Albus squeezed Draco’s wrist.

The estate was beautiful from here. Even as his heart pounded in his head, he could see. The French gardens looked even lovelier from the air, and the pond by the carriage path into the nearest town was shining and dotted with geese.

Soon, even as they flew higher, they were flying faster, dipping and leaning as they moved around trees and wind currents.

“Oh Merlin,” Albus finally exclaimed, and Draco laughed behind him.

“You’re doing wonderfully,” Draco yelled back, cheek momentarily resting at Albus’ temple.

Albus’ heart clenched and the want from earlier came back tenfold.

“Draco,” he called out.

Long fingers weaved through his at his waist. 

“Just enjoy,” was the reply, and Albus took another deep breath as they weaved in and out of tree groves, the tree trunks fat with age.

There was a moment where Albus contemplated turning his head and pressing his cheek into Draco’s neck, and so he did, wishing he could be as close as possible to Draco—wishing—

They tumbled off the broomstick, Albus realizing belatedly and thankfully that they were only a couple feet off the ground, before they landed on the hard earth. Mud slicked his button-down right through and his legs tangled with Draco’s. They rolled to a stop at the roots of an oak tree.

Albus was too shocked to say anything for a moment, but Draco was anxiously checking Albus over, kneeling over him in his soiled kit, questions getting more and more frantic as the moments passed and Albus said nothing.

“Al—Albus, are you alright? I’m so sorry!”

The feeling bubbled up from his chest, much like the euphoria he’d felt when he’d tested Draco’s potion, and Albus was laughing. He laughed until Draco’s worried expression faded into one of fondness, and then they were both chuckling breathlessly, Draco leaning over him and Draco’s hands on his chest.

When Albus finally caught his breath, he said, “I was wondering where the laugh lines came from.”

Draco’s grin faded to a sad smile. He cupped Albus’ head, thumb brushing mud from Albus’ temple.

“I haven’t laughed like that in a while,” he murmured, eyes drifting down to Albus’ lips.

There was a moment, a long moment, where Albus could have sworn he was going to be kissed, that Draco was leaning closer, that Albus was wanted as much as he wanted.

The moment broke when Draco scrambled back and said in a clear, shuttered voice—so unlike the voice Albus was used to—that he needed to find the broom. Within seconds Albus was alone, leaning against the oak tree, mud soaking in on one side and dejection sinking in all over.

 

**Two Weeks Later: October, 2024**

Albus was young but he knew enough to know when someone was avoiding him.

_TAKING SMALL DINNER IN STUDY._

Albus bit his lip and turned away from his bracelet to the cupboard, reciting inventory to the Quick Quotes Quill hovering over his shoulder. He didn’t bother calming his voice, taking absurd joy in the angry scribble of the quill. He’d laugh while looking the list over later while he was shopping, seeing ‘COURGETTES’ in blotchy, irritated handwriting as he went through the aisles of the Wand-Mart. Anyway, it soothed his wounded pride to do something rebellious in reaction to Draco’s elusiveness.

Draco hadn’t eaten with Albus since the broom incident, so Albus hadn’t seen much of him but to deliver foods and snacks and pass him by in the hall—or rather have Draco pass him as Albus watched him walk away. He didn’t know what to do.

He sent a response to Draco’s message in the form of,

_300 GALLEONS FOR GROCERIES._

Albus had never been one to talk back. He hated it when people were disappointed with him, or found something wrong with him. But this time, Albus knew beyond a doubt that he’d done everything right. How else could Draco have smiled so often, and even asked him to sit with him at dinners, to befriend him?

_The day Draco came back from Belgium, Albus had just finished tidying up the study and Draco’s bedroom, which had been freshened with several charms and even restocked with flower vases and accents. He’d attacked many of the other frequently used rooms, and had made lists and lists of improvements to be made to the East Wing._

_Draco had looked exhausted when he’d set his briefcase down in the living room, accepting tea after he’d changed upstairs. He stretched out on the sofa and stared absently over his teacup._

_Albus hovered awkwardly by the doorway, wondering if he should ask if Draco needed something. He had decided against it, turning toward the door when he heard a throat clearing._

_“Albus,” Draco called._

_“Yes, Draco?”_

_“Thank you for making this place a home again. I can tell how changed it is already.”_

_“You’re very welcome.”_

_“You have a talent,” he added quietly, “for giving, and for caring. If the house had a voice I’m certain she’d feel the love you put into what you do.”_

_Albus blushed, looking down at his hands._

_“Thank you,” he murmured after a moment, knowing that what Draco had meant was how much care Albus was already putting into making Draco feel at home, to give whatever Draco needed to him. The kind words, however said, were appreciated._

Albus shook himself and grabbed whatever he could find for dinner, and while he cooked up a simple soup, he became more and more resolved to confront Draco about the change.

The problem was, Draco was still his employer. Would Draco fire him?

The dread built in his heart, weighing him down as he sliced a baguette and set up a tray to take to the study.

Draco was buried in a text when Albus knocked on the door with his toe, but Albus could see he hadn’t been reading it from his expression, like he didn’t want to look at Albus.

Albus shuffled over, tray in his hands, and stood by the desk.

“I made you French onion soup,” Albus offered.

“Sounds divine.”

“Where would you like me to put it?”

“Over on that table should be fine, thank you, Albus.”

After setting the tray down, Albus waited. And waited.

And waited.

“Was there something else, Albus?”

The edge to Draco’s voice was to be expected, but Albus’ hackles rose just the same.

“What have I done?”

Draco looked up, finally, with a sigh. “What do you mean, what have you done?”

“Am I not performing to your standards anymore? Am I boring? Am I a nuisance?”

“No, Al—”

“Because you can’t tell me I’m not trying to make your house an actual home!”

“Albus. You cannot speak to me that way. Damn it—”

“Is this about the broom ride?”

Draco put the book down and leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Albus’ hands were shaking so he clenched them into fists. He was in danger of performing wandless magic if he let his emotions run too high. He could already feel the energy prickling at his skin.

“Yes, it’s about the broom ride,” Draco muttered finally.

Albus wanted to stomp his feet, but he threw his hands up instead. He went with, “Nothing happened!” when nothing more eloquent or appropriate came to mind.

Draco glared at him for a moment, before saying, “Something almost did happen, Al. You know that, don’t you?”

“How can I know when you don’t—”

“We’re speaking in code,” Draco grumbled to himself. “Albus, come on a walk with me. This is not a conversation for my office.”

The energy drained out of Albus as soon as it had flooded him, and he found himself dumbly following Draco as he cast a Stasis on the savoury-smelling soup and then walked out the door. They took a back staircase that led to the patio near the French gardens, and it was then that Draco began to speak.

“You are wonderful at what you do, Albus,” he said, hands slipping into the pockets of his robes. “I wanted to reassure you of that, at least. I had thought that was why I was drawn to you when you first started. You’re so unlike your father, you have many similarities to Astoria, and you take care of me—almost coddle me, to be frank—and I liked the attention. I was lonely. And so I thought nothing of it.”

Albus bit his lip, watching the play of emotions across Draco’s profile in the fading light.

“I can’t avoid this. I’ve always been horrid at avoiding the problems in my life,” Draco continued after a moment, and then Albus found Draco was looking into his eyes. Albus felt like he was being assessed.

“Do I pass the test?” he asked quietly, but Draco ignored him.

“I have feelings for you, Al,” Draco replied. “I wanted to kiss you that day—you were muddy and scared to death and laughing and I’ve only ever felt that way…” he trailed off and looked out across the gardens, before he looked down and clasped his hand around¬ the silver bracelet on Albus’ wrist.

“What do you think of starting your own restaurant?”

Albus stuttered out an answer, something that ended between a, “Pardon?” and a, “Yes?” That question was not at all what he’d been expecting.

Draco smiled sadly. “I’m suggesting that you do something with your talents other than just serving me. Something that serves you as well.”

Albus gaped at him. “What?”

The fingers around his wrist moved down to his own fingers. “I can’t remain in a professional relationship with you when I feel this way.”

Albus’ stomach seemed to twist up. “Are… are you letting me go?”

“I’m offering to help you start a business. Or to go to the best culinary school. Whatever it is that you need to do what you love.”

“But I’m doing what I love—I don’t want to leave!”

Draco shook his head. “I’m falling in love with you, Albus.”

Albus tried to tug his fingers from Draco’s grasp. “I fell in love with you months ago!”

“Al,” Draco murmured, fighting off a smile. Albus found himself wrapped up in Draco’s arms, a hand splayed in the dip of his back and Draco’s pointy nose brushing against his cheek. “May I kiss you?”

Albus’ eyes fluttered closed. “Please,” he whispered.

Draco kissed like he hadn’t in a while, like he was savouring it, and Albus thought that was rather silly because they’d have time to savour it later, certainly, and he’d been wanting this for too long. But, Draco held Albus’ head in his hands, licking at his lips and nipping affectionately, and Albus wanted everything from him.

“You’re so young,” Draco murmured against his mouth.

“You’re so observant,” Albus replied. “And I’m still angry with you.”

“I’m not telling you to leave, Al. I want you to stay. But I can’t pay you and be with you. It’s not right.”

It clicked. Albus’ heart tripped and his hands began to tremble again.

“So, what are you telling me?”

“I’m telling you… I’m telling you that I have pamphlets for the Wizarding Culinary School in my study—or—or if you don’t want that I can set up an appointment with Gringotts for a loan to start a business. I could be an investor. I’ll do whatever you want, to be honest. We can start over as two people, not employer and employee.”

Albus looked up at Draco. “You sound like the hero in a romance novel,” he muttered.

Draco smirked. “Are you always this snarky when you’re angry?”

“Absolutely.”

“We’ll get along well, I think.”

Albus felt like things were sliding into place, like he was on the verge of being certain about something. It had been a long time since he’d felt that way.

And to think he’d felt hopeless earlier.

“Let’s go back to your office. You need to eat, and I need to look at those pamphlets.” 

Draco leaned in and kissed Albus again, brushing his hair back.

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m still horribly angry that you ignored me for two weeks.” 

Draco looked contrite. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Albus pressed Draco’s hand to his cheek. “When I’m no longer your housekeeper, may I still make you dinner?”

“By all means!”

“Deal. Let’s go.”

Albus felt a smile tug at his lips.


End file.
